All of which didn’t make it any easier now, after the Bronco game, when Terry, fresh from the showers, all powdered and perfumed, wriggled out of her panties and winked her pussy at me. “What say we celebrate, Steve, ol’ buddy,” she suggested, stroking my thigh. .
“I have to take a shower.” I backed off towards the bathroom. “A cold shower.”
I stayed in the shower until I was sure she’d gone out for dinner. Then I went out myself. I made sure it was very late when I came back so that Terry would be asleep. I contrived to crawl into the empty twin bed without waking her. Ignoring my erection, I managed to drift off to sleep myself.
Some time later, I was awakened by the sounds of sobbing coming from Terry’s bed. I switched on the night light on the side away from her. In the dimness of its gentle glow, I could see that she was quite sound asleep and obviously having a disturbing dream.”
“Yes!” she moaned. “No!” She opened her mouth wide and formed an ‘O’ with her lips. “Mmm!” she sighed. “And then: “I surely do not want any onions, lover!” She began crying, as if with frustration.
It was heartrending. I stood it as long as I could, thinking the dream might change. But in the end I reached across to Terry’s bed and shook her gently by her smooth and rounded naked shoulder.
“AAGGHH!” She screamed and sat bolt upright in bed. It took a moment for her eyes to focus. When they did, she looked at me and burst into tears.
“Terry! What is it?” I crossed over to her bed and sat on the edge. “What’s the matter?”
The sound of my voice, however, only seemed to inspire her to a greater flow of tears. I couldn’t stand it. Women’s tears are a universal solvent to the will. My resistance to Terry dissolved on the spot. For the past week I had avoided physical contact with her, but now I took her in my arms to comfort her.
“What is it?” I repeated.
“I had me a dream.” Finally she managed to get it out between sobs.
“Tell me about it.”
“It was about you-all.” She snuggled closer, her breasts warm and springy against me through the thin nightgown. “Sort of,” she amended.
“Sort of?” I prompted her.
“It was up north at that Shea Stadium, but I wasn’t rightly playin’.” She took a handkerchief from me and blew her nose. “Y’all might say I was more like a spectator.”
“I see.” I smoothed her short blonde hair from her brow. “What happened in the dream, Terry?”
“I was a-watchin’ the football game when a vendor came along with this here tray of hot dogs. Big, long weenies like they have sometimes, you know?”
“I've seen them.”
“Lordy, I wanted me one of them! I mean my mouth was purely waterin’! In the dream, that is. Fact is, in real life, I ain’t much for that Yankee food.”
“Stick to the dream.”
“Alrighty. Well, in the dream, eager as I was, I paid the vendor and I reached out to take me one of them frankfurters. Only—Only—”
“Only?”
“Only when I picked up the roll, it didn’t come free like you’d rightly ’spect it would.”
“I don’t get it. What do you mean?”
“It was attached.”
“Attached how?”
“The weenie was attached to the vendor. It was a-lying’ there all long an’ red an’ juicy in the roll, but it wasn’t a hot dog at all. No, sir! That there frankfurter was really his pecker.”
“Freud be praised!”
“What was that y’all said, Steve?”
“Never mind. Go on with the dream.”
“Well, now, realizin’ this, I all of a sudden was hungrier even than afore. I wanted that thang so bad! So bad I could rightly taste it! An’ that’s what I said to that there vendor. ‘Gimme my frank!’ I said. 'Give it here!’ “
“Then what happened?”
“The vendor, he asked did I want mustard on it. I said real polite. ‘Yes, thank you kindly.’ Then he asks do I want sauerkraut an’ I tell him no. He goes to hand me the pecker-in-a-roll, an’ my mouth gets real big an’ round like I'm gonna suck this weenie steada eatin’ it. Anyway, he pulls it back, like he’s teasin’ me, an’ he says do I want onions on it. One thang I hate on a hot dog, it’s onions! That is purely a Yankee trick!” Suddenly she was crying again.
“It was only a dream.” I tried to console her.
“I began a-suckin’ on that weenie an’ it was so good! So good!” She was half incoherent. “My box was on fire an’ I was rubbin’ it ’tween my legs there in the bleachers an’ a-suckin’ away when—when—”
“Take it easy.”
“Suddenly, this here vendor, he pulls it out of my mouth an’ begins a-laughin’ at me like the devil hisself. But that wasn’t all. That wasn’t the worst. The worst—The worst—”
“Shh, baby. It was only a dream.”
“No, it wasn’t! It was the way it is! Just the way it is!”
“What do you mean?”
“That there devil-vendor’s face—His face when he took that pecker I wanted so bad plumb out of my lovin’ mouth—His face—”
“Easy, baby.”
“His face was your face, Steve! Your face! You were him! An’, just like always, you were pullin’ your pecker away from me!” Once again, her wailing dissolved into incoherence.
Can you dig it, guys? Sigmund? August? Ingmar52 ? All aboard! First stop dreamland, next stop guilt. My guilt! Well, hell, hadn’t my holding out on her driven Terry to dreaming such a textbook dream? And wasn’t it my responsibility to kiss it and make it better?
Yeah, that’s what I did. So much for professionalism, and the devil take the hindmost. I kissed the tears from her wet cheeks. I kissed the frustration from her lips. I kissed away the hunger and the emptiness. I kissed and made it better.
Terry’s arms went around my neck and she clung to me. Her wet cheeks glistened. The silk of her nightgown rose and fell quickly. Her blue eyes were grateful and filled with desire. Her mouth moved over mine with lips that were warm and moist and a tongue that was electric and probing. “So good!” she sighed. “This here is so rightly good!”
The throbbing of my cock confirmed her judgment. I had been sleeping in only my jockey shorts, and now it stuck out between us un- ashamedly—aroused, stiff, and arrogant. Looking down from lowered lids through spiderweb lashes, Terry saw it and caught her breath. Her hand dropped from my neck and encircled its nakedness.
“My weenie!” Her laugh was low and throaty. “My hot dog!”
“Without sauerkraut.”
“Without mustard.”
“Without onions.”
“Praise be to the Lord! I surely do hate onions! You Yankees are plumb crazy puttin’ such a thing on your weenies.” She slid down my body and pulled down my shorts. “Delicious!” She fondled my cock and kissed it. Then she started playing with my balls.
I noticed that she wasn’t crying any more, but that didn’t make me back off. I was past that point. Her lips and tongue, teasing my hard-on, left me helpless to reverse the action.
My hands moved as if there had never been any question. They slid down her milky shoulders and bosom and under her breasts. These were heavy and hot as I squeezed and stroked them. The sun-tanned flesh glowed pale gold in the lamplight, and Terry’s large, strawberry-shaped nipples stood out stiff and hungry-red. When I palmed them, she moaned and took one of my balls between her lips, teasing its hairiness with her tongue, sucking it as if it was some particularly delectable piece of hard candy.
“I surely do have the most sensitive titties,” she confessed, lifting her pursed mouth for a moment. “Nothin’ I wouldn’t do for a man if ’n he plays with ’em just right.” She extended her tongue well under my balls and tickled my asshole with it.